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“Gianna isn’t like me. She won’t come to terms with an arranged marriage.”
I regarded Aria, wondering if this was only accepting the unavoidable, or if this marriage was really more to her, if her words about love could really be true and not her way to make this easier for her. But more than that, I wondered why the hell I cared.
“She will become my wife the moment she turns eighteen. No power in this universe will stop me from making her mine,” Matteo said.
Aria shook her head. “You disgust me. You all do.”
She walked past me, but I didn’t follow her, not even when she took the elevator back up to our apartment.
“And you say Gianna is trouble,” Matteo muttered, rubbing his cheek. “Your wife is quite a handful.”
I made a noncommittal noise. Aria was growing more confident, and even though part of me was annoyed by her outburst, I couldn’t help but be relieved that she wasn’t so painfully submissive around me anymore. I loved her fiery side as much as the rest of her.
I loved every little thing about her, even her frustrating emotionality.
Love.
I loved Aria.
“You look as if you had a stroke,” Matteo said.
Love was a risk. A weakness. Something I shouldn’t entertain.
“Luca?”
I shook my head at him, and at myself. I wasn’t capable of love.CHAPTER 23I avoided Aria over the next three days, hoping that my feelings would wane if I kept my distance, but they didn’t. It was torture, lying beside her at night without kissing and touching her, but even worse was not seeing her smile.
I spent even more time in the Sphere, determined to drive Aria out of my system with sheer work overload, but even that wasn’t working. Matteo and I were on our way back home when Cesare called. I knew at once that something was wrong. I’d seen him only two hours ago for a quick fight workout. If there was something he had to say, he could have done it then.
I picked up.
“The Bratva shot your father,” Cesare grunted, sounding out of breath.
For a moment, I was sure I hadn’t heard him right. Only Matteo’s wide-eyed stare confirmed the words.
“What?”
“He was out with his mistress and was hit by several bullets. I’m on my way there. It’s in his favorite restaurant. He’s still alive. The Doc will be there in a few minutes. Should I call an ambulance?”
“No ambulance. You know the rules,” I said then hung up. I jerked the steering wheel around and did a U-turn before hitting the gas and speeding toward the restaurant.
“Fuck,” Matteo breathed. “Maybe that’s it. Maybe someone took him off our hands.”
“He’s not dead yet,” I gritted out. “And the Bratva are the last people I want involved in his death. They’ll get overconfident.”
We arrived at the restaurant within five minutes. I jumped out of the car. A few men were gathered inside and outside the restaurant, most of them soldiers who lived close by. The police hadn’t arrived yet. Everyone in this area knew what kind of restaurant this was. Calling the police was out of the question. I jogged into the restaurant. The Famiglia soldiers had their guns pulled, and Cesare stood beside the Doc who was bent over Father. The ground was covered with broken glass and blood.
A young woman with a hole in her forehead was sprawled out beside an overturned chair.
Matteo and I headed for our father. The Doc was pressing down on a wound in Father’s stomach while his assistant held up a transfusion bag. Father was clutching the Doc’s arm in a desperate grip, sucking in one rattling breath after the other, and staring at us wide-eyed. For as long as I could remember, I’d wondered how it would feel to see my father like this, to watch him taking his last breaths. Occasionally I’d feared I’d feel regret or sadness, but there was nothing. Only relief.
I knelt beside him and Matteo on his other side.
“I can’t help him. If we call an ambulance, he might survive,” Doc said, his weathered wrinkly face solemn.
Father grasped my hand, bulging eyes on me, begging me. Didn’t he remember how he’d beaten and cut any hint of compassion out of me? He was trying to say something. I leaned down. “H-hospital…take me…take me hospital.”
I met his gaze and gave a nod, then I turned to the Doc, motioning for him to stand. He staggered to his feet and so did his assistant.
“Leave and tell the others,” I told them. “Father doesn’t want his men to witness his last moments. He wants to be remembered as the strong Capo that he was.”
Doc and his assistant headed toward the front of the restaurant. From the corner of my eye, I caught Matteo pressing down on a wound in Father’s side to stop the words he wanted to say and turn them into a pained gurgle. He wouldn’t be saved tonight.
